Everything She Wants
by Delusional Darcy
Summary: Tom doesn't know as much as he thinks.


This is a **random** one shot. I wrote the first two paragraphs months ago out of boredom, although I think it was after listening to Wham's _Everything She Wants,_ because that's what I titled it." Anyhow, I finished it today because I needed to be productive.

It's an odd little alternate universe that might not make any sense. I hope at least one person likes it, lol. I've gotten pretty rusty at prose fiction, as I've spent the last year and a half focusing on screenwriting.

I apologize for any grammatical errors as this is un-beta'd

* * *

 _ **Everything She Wants**_

Tom Riddle knew a lot of things. He knew that he smartest person at Hogwarts. He knew his ancestor founded his proud house. He knew how to charm his way into the restricted section. He knew the names and histories of every pureblood family in Hogwarts, as well as those half-bloods who were connected to old pureblood families, like Potter. He knew history.

He knew that his father had paramours, no matter how discrete he thought he was. And he knew his mother made herself into the perfect socialite to forget that the man she loved didn't return her affections. He knew that they would never divorce, just as he knew that he would never have to worry about money.

He knew that both men and women found him attractive. He knew how to use his looks to get whatever he wanted. He knew that his glacial blue eyes could make a man quake with fear or women damp between her thighs. He knew that his smile was lethal and charming that it promised many things while giving nothing. He knew that he was a god amongst ordinary men, but when it came to her felt as if he nothing.

When muggle-born Hermione Granger walked into Hogwarts on the first day of his seventh year, he felt as if the earth had tilted further on it's axis. She had stood before the heads table in her Beauxbatons uniform, a lovely picture in blue. An exchange student in her seventh year, taking the place of sixth year Gryffindor. She was gorgeously, unique and with hair that reminded him of Medusa. It was wild and uninhibited, as it if had thoughts separate from its owner. He wanted to rake his fingers through those locks and feel them coil around his wrist. He wanted to feel her petite frame pressed up against his taller one. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to remove that halo of innocents that surrounded her. He wanted to her, and he knew she would want him.

So in their fist class together, Tom maneuvered himself as her partner in charms. She'd smiled at him, a quirk of the lips really, and then preceded to ignore him for the rest of the class. She'd ignored the way he 'accidentally' brushed his thigh against hers and the way he leaned in close, his breath fanning across her ear, to ask if he could borrow some ink as his had run out. She had nodded, quirked her lips, and moved her pot between them. She'd kept it there the rest of the class, along with a tiny invisible shield that made it impossible for him to accidentally touch her again.

So everyday, in every class they shared, Tom made it appoint to sit next to Hermione, and every day, in every one of those classes, Hermione made it a point to share her ink with him. This went on for the semester. One giving a smile full of promises and the other a mere quirking of the lips. One never thought much about their exchange, the other could think of nothing else, except penetrate an invisible shield.

If someone had told Tom that he would spend hours, nay months, trying to bring down a small insignificant ward, he would have cursed them where they stood. There was nothing he didn't know. He knew spells that would give his professors nightmares. He knew the location of a chamber with many secrets. He knew how to get into the panties of every girl in his year, except for one. The one, the only one who mattered.

He couldn't understand how she hadn't broken yet. They'd never spoken outside of class and never on a topic other than what was at hand. He wanted her to ask him his name, to ask about his family, his grades, his interests, to ask everything. He wanted her to know about him. To know what he knew. To know that he was a smarter person in Hogwarts. To know that he was a genius. She should want to know because he wanted her to know. She should want what he wanted.

Winter break came and it went, and Tom found himself at Hogwarts again. He walked the halls with a little more swagger in his step. He smiled a little more and promised even less. He felt more confident than he had in his entire life, for now, he certain that he knew everything. When he entered the charms classroom, she was already there. Perched like a perfect peacock in her poppy blue dress. Her hair was pinned back into a neat bun with few a tendrils teasing the back if her neck. Tom slipped into his seat, a smile upon his face, when she turned to him, lips quirked again, and said, "did you have a nice holiday?"

He stumbled slightly forward, catching himself upon the desk. His eyes widen when he noticed her ink pot was no longer on her left. Her lips twitched and her eyes smiled, as she pointed to a shiny package on his desk. Tom stared down at the silver package with a green bow and then lifted his eyes in question to her. "Happy Christmas, Thomas," she said before lifting her quill and coping notes from the board. Tom sat, placed his knapsack on the floor, unwrapped his gift, and stared in awe at a green quill with a silver nib and matching ink pot.

"It never runs out," Hermione said, quill steady upon her parchment.

Tom looked from Hermione to the quill set, which was almost identical to the one he had at home. There were so many question on the tip of his tongue, but he could not, would not succumb. He had learned to counter her damnable spell but there was no use for it now.

The first few weeks of the semester went on as they had in the previous semester, until the day she left her quill in the library and asked to borrow his. Her finger had brushed his when she removed the extra quill from his hand. He'd watched her tiny digits rub nib before dipping it into his ink. She pulled it out with a flouring, smiled at him, and went on as if nothing had changed. If Tom could have cursed in the middle of class, it is certain he would have.

Infuriating that's what she was. This enigma wrapped in blues and dotted in browns had a brain that matched his own. She was like the female version of him, and as such he knew that she thought she knew everything. It was challenge and he would no longer indulge her. He was done. Finished. It was time to move on. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone. He was Tom Riddle, the heir of everything: of knowledge, of power, of attraction, of life. He got what he wanted, and he no longer wanted her. He would finish the week as normal, and then he would make Malfoy switch seats with him again. He'd washed his hands of Hermione Granger, and he would ignore her like she'd done him.

And at the end of the day, when Tom was leaving dinner, she caught up with him in the hall. She motioned him off to the side and presented his quill to him. "I forgot to return it. Here," she said, offering it up to him. He grabbed the pen near around the nib, but before letting go, she pulled onto her tip toes and whispered in his ear.

"I do not know everything, no man does. However, I do know who you are and that is enough."

His free hand touched her side, light enough no to grip her but strong enough to support her.

"Then who am I?"

"You are me, and I am you. But you have too much yin to balance out my yang."

"Perhaps you have to much yang."

Hermione pressed the pen into his palm, the nib digs into his skin. Not enough to break, just enough to indent. Tom lets out a breath.

"Teach me," he said.

"I thought you knew everything?"

"I'm willing to learn, from you."

She placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth; it's firm and full of promise, full of gray areas tinged in darkness surrounded by light.

"Only if you give me everything" she said, releasing her hand from his. "I want," she quirked her lips, turned and walked away.

Tom stood in the hall, nib still pressed in his palm, the smell of her in his nose and the echo of her lips against part of is, and he feels everything and knows nothing.


End file.
